


Save the Puppies!

by Bishop_Wolf1999, Phoenixflame3009



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Angst and Humor, F/M, M/M, Romance, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-11
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-08-21 22:45:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8263124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bishop_Wolf1999/pseuds/Bishop_Wolf1999, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phoenixflame3009/pseuds/Phoenixflame3009
Summary: A Carrier's mission is simple. Find a Charge, create more Carriers, repopulate the world. Short, sweet and to the point. Well, to everyone except Ciel.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kareen2006](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kareen2006/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Save the Kittens!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/436017) by [Kareen2006](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kareen2006/pseuds/Kareen2006). 



> PLEASE READ! This story is based off of Kareen2006's story, Save the Kittens! and includes terminology that can be difficult to understand. If you haven't read it, we strongly encourage you to go and read that first to avoid any confusion. For those of you who have read it, we're sorry to say no characters from Save the Kittens! or Save the Kittens! Leon and Cloud's story will be featured here as this is a completely different fandom but we hope you'll stick around. Enjoy!
> 
> Tumblr page: http://xylia-xiii.tumblr.com/

“ _Ursus Martimus_.”  
  
“No.”  
  
“ _Brachycephalus Ephippium_.”  
  
“No.”  
  
“ _Elaphodus Cephalophus_ ,” Read a monotonous voice. The figure continued moving without pause, too immersed to stop and properly admire the creature with more than a glance. It certainly looked human, he thought. Handsome face, seashell pink skin, lean muscles; a male specimen none could outshine for beauty. So beautiful, in fact, he almost overlooked the not-so-beautiful parts like its swollen feet and fangs.  
  
Keyword being _almost_.

"Goodness," He breathed, feigning neither dread nor disgust. Only curiosity. "I don't think I've ever seen the human body violated in such a way. What do you suppose will become of the children this man concei-"

_wuh-PSSSH!_

He doesn't react when she strikes him. Doesn't shout, doesn't wince, doesn't so much as flinch unless permitted to do so. Not that it matters, he reasons. His nerves died centuries ago, leaving him invulnerable to petty sensations like agony or ecstasy or emotion. Even now the burning prickle of shredded flesh and possibly a broken humerus goes unregistered by his brain. He can almost smile at how foolish the woman is.

"Drocell," She calls, her voice sweeter and more lovely than honeysuckle incarnate. If honeysuckles tasted like vinegar and spite, that is. "Correct me if I'm wrong but I believe I offered you a choice earlier. Would you care to repeat it for me?"

"Certainly," He acquised. "You're exact words were to be silent and carry out the assignment without failure."

"Oh, so you aren't completely brainless. That's a relief..." Drocell actually blinked in surprise. _How...unsatisfying._ Along with the deadened nerves, he'd also grown accustomed to her insightful and livid criticisms; well-worded cusses that absolutely shattered his dignity, pride, and everything else. But this, this half-assed bashing of his intelligence, was horrendously weak. He couldn't help but wonder if the bitch might actually be losing her touch.

"The point being," She continued. "I brought you along only to appease your masters insistent demands. According to him, you possess some otherworldly merit when given a collection assignment and so I agreed. But if someone like you is incapable of even the simplest, most basic of instructions, then you are of no use. And those who cannot make themselves useful are in no position to serve me. Or **him** , for that matter."

Suddenly, she uttered a laugh. "It's funny, really. You've served under him much longer than I have--over two-thousand and thirty years if my memory is correct--and yet, despite your unwavering loyalty, he'll trust my word over yours nine times out of ten. I suppose that's just one of the many benefits of being his partner instead of his lapdog," She stepped towards him until the two were level, a light some might generously call sadistic gleaming in those violet orbs. "For instance, if I let it slip that his puppets incompetence jeopardized the two million credits promised to us..."

Okay, totally disregard that last statement because apparently the bitch hasn't lost anything. Not yet, anyways.

Drocell doesn't hesitate. Collapsing onto one solid knee, he crosses his uninjured arm across his chest and dipped his head, traces of ridicule and disgust ghosting across his spine. It nauseated him, submitting himself to her of all people, but if word of his incompetence reached his master...

"So, then I thought to myself: 'I'm a fool," He muttered, each word rolling off his tongue in a well rehearsed manner. "Has it somehow slipped my mind that I must always be attentive to the orders my master gives me? The fact that I'm not for even a moment is unforgivable. However will I atone for this mistake? Perhaps by apologizing to my lady? Yes. That sounds like a suitable idea,'" He tilted his head back, magenta briefly blinded by bleached violet. "I apologize...I promise I won't disappoint you again."

The bitch scoffs, her fingers wound tighter than a noose around the whip. "Consider yourself fortunate to serve such a benevolent master, otherwise you'd already be ten feet under. Now, come."

A fool, indeed.

The woman approached another chamber, sparing not even a glance at the body sleeping within. She would never subject her fragile eyes to such an atrosity. Instead, she opted for the tablet beside the machine and scrolled listlessly through its content. Honestly, at this point, it wouldn't surprise her if this turned out to be the wrong person. There must've been at least a hundred bodies in this room alone, a majority of which were fully developed and on the cusp of life, so tracking down one specific body amidst a sea of look-alikes in under thirty minutes seemed impossible.

That, and the risk was nothing short of severe. If a Technician were to stumble in for any reason, whether its patrolling or to simply smoke in private, both of their lives would end in decapitation. Or electrocution. Or drowning. No one knew for sure considering the punishment for poaching had been left undecided but it always ended in gruesome death.

It didn't seem worth it. And really, it wasn't. She was already so rich that losing out on two million credits looked more like tossing two pennies into a fountain. Then again, the money never had anything to do with why she was here. The real reason lied with-

"Him." She gasped, her eyes fixated on those three small words. "He's the one."

Moving far faster than Drocell had given her credit for, she relinquished the tablet into his hands and rested her own upon the impenetrable glass. The beginnings of a wicked smile tugged at her lips. _Oh, yes_ , she thought. _Absolute perfection._

Except he wasn't. Quite the opposite as a matter of fact. Unlike his colorless brethren he possessed features better suited for a teenager girl than a twenty-two year old male; voluptuous curves, blemish-free complexion, coltish legs, china doll face. To add insult to injury, his height all but stunted at five-feet and showed no promise of improving, making him the shortest Carrier in history. His only redeeming quality, if any, was the flaccid girth between his thighs.

All of it matched the buyers specifications. Down to the last detail.

"Feast your unsightly eyes on a true legend, Drocell. The final addition to the whore lineage--the _Canis Lupus Ligoni_."

* * *

  
Meanwhile, a few ways away, three Technicians were getting settled into their nightly rounds. Leading the trio was a tall man with greased dirty blond hair, goggles hanging loosely around his neck while the suffocating scent of cigarettes ghosted his every movement. To his left followed a redheaded woman wearing thickly-lensed glasses, and to his right a younger looking boy who at the moment was fiddling with the red pins in his ginger hair.

The blond, having a freshly lit cigarette clenched tight between his teeth, check his watch for what felt like the hundredth time that evening. It was only a quarter past midnight. Still three and a half hours before his shift ends. He tried poking around at the screen. Just to be sure there wasn't a chance it was acting slow but no, it was right on time, down the last second. He heaved a smoke shrouded breath into the air.

"Can't believe this," Said the blond. "Ya know, I figured bein' a Technician meant havin' a few sleepless nights here and there but I'm really losin sleep to watch a hall? When I gotta work in the mornin' too? Bloody ridiculous." He paused to take a much needed drag from his cigarette. "This keeps up and I'm gonna give those blokes in general affairs an earful, I swear."

The boy tears himself away from the tempting pins and looks up at the older man with bright eyes despite his exhaustion. "Aw, c'mon now Bard, it ain't so bad. At least you, me and Mey-Rin get to patrol together."

"Finny has a point, yes he does," Mey-Rin added. "I'd rather spend the rest of my days watchin' and cleanin' these halls then go somewhere without the two of you."

Bard looks over his shoulder at his companions, at Finny's bright turquoise eyes and Mey-Rin's wide smile. No matter the situation these two were always so cheerful. So much so that he was finding it difficult to stay upset about the situation. He really couldn't understand how these two always managed to infect him with their happiness.

"Yeah, I guess you're right. I can't stand this job but that don't mean I'd wanna be away from either of ya." And it's the absolute truth. He couldn't bare being separated from those he loved. Especially these two. The thought alone is unbearable. He cracks a small smile. "Now what do ya say we get a move on and finish the job, huh? We still gotta patrol the East and North wing before sunrise. I'd rather get it done as soon as possible so I can get back to bed and avoid...ya know. Him."

"Right!" The two cried in unison.

And so the three carried on with their assigned task. For a minute until their watches started flashing simultaneously.

"Huh?" Finny looked down at his watch. A long string of text followed.

_  
Emergency: Canis Lupus Ligoni undergoing the following symptoms:_

_Severe Chemical Imbalance_

_Severe emotional and/or mental distress_

_Airway blockage. Oxygen levels decreasing._

_Nerve Cell Damage_

_Cornea Distortion_

_Anxiety Overload_

_Impending Arrhythmias_

_Risk of asthma: 73%...78%...82%...8-_

  
Before the watch could finish its seemingly endless report of stress-related and life-threatening issues Finny was already sprinting down the hall, running faster than he ever did in his entire life.

"Finny!" Mey-Rin called after him, followed by Bard shouting, "Where ya goin?!"

Their words fell on deaf ears. Finny continued moving his feet faster and faster and faster still, never faltering for even a second aside from the two or three times he bumped into another Technician still creeping around, his heavy exhaustion from earlier replaced by pure adrenaline pushing him closer to the designated room, repeating the same mantra over and over whenever his legs started to ache.

"I can make it...I can make it...I can make it…" The door came into view. "I'm gonna make it…ha...ha….I'm gonna make it…"

The moment he arrives outside the door he doesn't waste a second worrying about consequences and the like before his foot collides with the heavy metal door, breaking it clear off its hinges and to the floor with a resounding thunk. Once inside, he rushed past the thousands beyond thousands of identical-looking gestation chambers. He was sure he wouldn't miss it. It was bound to be the one sounding a deafening alarm, flashing red lights-basically the only one that looked different. However, when he does stumble upon it, he can practically feel the image being burned into his brain.

The Carrier inside was in a state of pure agony; his legs thumping dully against the glass, his hands scratching away at his chest and face like he wanted to escape his own body. He hasn't yet knocked off the breathing mask as it's still firmly attached to his face, but the warning regarding his oxygen levels continued to decrease so it definitely isn't something wrong with the machine, but rather something internal.

"I gotta do something and quick. C'mon, Finny, think!" He exclaims, eyes darting about the room in a panicked frenzy that perfectly replicated his inner turmoil. Of course he could reroute the terminals interface into automatic reset which would stabilize the chemical balance back to a steady, less hazardous amount. Would it be quick enough though? The entire process takes roughly four minutes to take effect. Who knows what other problems could arise by then.

That's when he spots something from the corner of his eye: a chair. It's completely made from metal, as everything is in this day and age, and is sitting idly against the wall. A little out of place if he's honest with himself but for this situation it's perfectly convenient.

"Just hold on! I'll get you out of there!"

Without a moment's hesitation Finny grabbed the chair by its legs and effortlessly lifts it over his head, runs back towards the chamber and smashes it heavily against the glass. Nothing but a scratch shows up. He isn't discourage though. He hits it again. A crack. Again. A slightly bigger crack. Again. Liquid trickles through the thin lines.

Finny heaves out several heavy breaths, clearly winded from his efforts but less than any normal human. _This time_ , he thinks. _This time for sure. I can feel it._ For what he hopes will be the final time, he lifts the chair over his shoulder, this time by the backrest so all four legs are aimed at the glass, then shoves the entire thing forward, leaving four freshly penetrated holes in the glass. It sticks there for a moment before he yanks the entire thing back, unleashing a chain of cataclysmic events.

The chamber explodes like a ticking time bomb. Gestation fluid and glass shards shoot out everywhere, coating everything in its path in a thick sheen of transparent goo. Including Finny. His clothes, skin, and not to mention bones are soaked. He wipes it from his eyes so he can see the Carrier lying still on the floor of the chamber amidst the fluid and glass.

"Ah! You poor thing! C'mon, let's get you outta there. Last thing I want is you catchin' a chill." Finny unclasps the breathing mask from the Carrier's head with speedy precision, letting it bounce around by its elastic cord as he drags the limp body away from the chamber and into his shaking arms. His heart stops at the sight; the Carrier hasn't opened his eyes. He doesn't even twitch in the slightest. "No…" His hands scramble desperately around the other's body, searching for a pulse in three different spots at the same time.

_Please...after all this, you can't give up…_

His fingers finally settle for a spot beside the Carrier's adams apple. For a moment there's no sound and the Technician's heart stops, then shatters into a million pieces. No. No, he couldn't have failed. He has to live. He just has to!

_Thump…thump…thump, thump..._

It's amazing how such a simple, albeit weak sound could bring life back to his own heart. Overwhelming relief crashes over his body like a tsunami and a hurricane put together, stimulating each and every nerve, muscle and cell into a state of happiness so strong he can't stop himself from almost strangling the Carrier in a hug.

"Finny!" A shrill voice calls from the doorway. It's Mey-Rin, followed by Bard.

"Have ya lost your bleedin' mind?! Why the hell would ya break the damn thing? Ya know how expensive one'a those things is?!"

"I know, I know! I'm sorry! It's just…" He turns from them and looks at the Carrier in his arms, watching his tiny chest expand and constrict with each shallow breath he took, feeling immense relief but at the same time helplessness. "You didn't see it. Neither of you. You didn't see how much he was suffering in there, all the kicking and clawing he was doing, like he thought no one was going to save him. No one deserves that, especially not someone as defenseless as him. As for the machine, I don't care what it cost 'cause I don't regret what I did. He's alive and that's what's important, ain't it? Go on! Tell me I'm wrong! Go ahead and try!" Finny sniffled, tears running down his face.

Neither dared to say a word. Since their first meeting, both Technicians knew about Finny's love for all creatures. It didn't matter to him how negatively society depicted a person or Carrier, the ginger loved them, flaws and all.

"Ey, no more tears, alright?" Bard said. "I understand why ya did it. It was the heat of the moment, ya had to act fast and ran with the first idea that popped into your noggin. I've been there. Hell, if I were in your shoes, I bet I woulda done the same thing. I just don't want you goin' all screwloose and gettin' into trouble. Ya best leave that to professionals like me."

Finny sniffles again. There are still tears in his eyes, but this time a small smile bloomed across his face. It was funny, really. Both the joke and the situation. In the worst of situations he's been used to picking others up when their down. Yet whenever life decides its time he gets knocked down a peg or two, his friends are right there to return the favor. He doesn't know what he ever did to deserve such kindness. Maybe it's because he suffered a past filled with nothing but abuse and neglect, brainwashing him for a moment that there was nothing else, no sunlight in this sea of darkness. He had never been so glad to be proven wrong.

Ever so gently, he rests the Carrier into his lap so he can reach over to hug the older man, the familiar smell of tobacco always bringing him back. No matter what happens, he'll be okay. So long as these two don't leave him he'll be okay.

"What're we gonna do? We got ourselves a Carrier on the brink o' death and broken glass everywhere. What if someone else comes in and think we did this? That we were tryin' to hurt him? Oh, they're gonna get angry, yes they will!" Mey-Rin exclaimed, pacing worriedly about the room. Finny pulls back from the hug.

"Let them think what they want. I don't regret a thing." He says.

"Oh dear, what if the Head Technician catches word of this? You know how much he cares about the wellbein' of the Carriers! He could sentence us all to death!" Mey-Rin continues.

"Alright, calm down! The lot of ya!" Bard shouts. The two freeze at once, both stopping in their actions and planting their eyes on the blond. He huffs a sigh. He really doesn't like yelling, doesn't like the effect it has on others. It brings back too many memories. "Look, no one's here yet, right? That means we still got time to fix everything but we gotta act fast. Mey-Rin, go fetch a blanket from the supply closet. I've never done this sorta thing before but I assume it would be best to keep him warm. At least until we can track down another chamber."

"Yes, sir!"

"Finny, you go along with her and see if you can't find a mop and bucket, maybe some cleanin' supplies. We gotta clean up all this fluid and glass."

"But what abou-"

"Don't worry about it. I'll keep an eye on him til you two come back. Ya can trust me."

"I-It's not that I dont trust you! I do! I just don't wanna leave til I'm sure he's...that he'll be…" He looks down at the Carrier, then at Bard, then back again to the Carrier. "I want to make sure he's alright…do you...c-can you promise me he'll be okay?"

Bard flashes him a reassuring smile. "Cross my heart."

"Then…that's good enough for me." Finny rushes off after Mey-Rin, his determined spirit from earlier rekindled. Bard chuckles. Where the hell does that kid find the energy?

Once alone he carefully maneuvers his way past the puddle over to a chamber that isn't completely soaked and sits down with his back against the glass, pulling the Carrier into a cradled position like he's a newborn infant. He might as well be. Good lord, is he a tiny thing. Granted, it isn't his area to examine Carrier's but he knows well enough that they are never meant to be this tiny. Hell, the one in the chamber he's leaning against is at least three times his size. Should he be put back into gestation for a few more years? How old is he anyways?

Bard huffs. It isn't like he can check the terminal. As of right now, the only information they have left is the model number tattooed under his scrotum and no way in **hell** is Bard curious enough to go searching. God knows what the Carrier might do if he wakes up to find some stranger checking out his private bits but considering he retains human thoughts and emotions like a human, he can imagine it would end with a punch and a broken jaw. He shudders. These things could be damn scary when they wanted to be, that's for sure.

"Here we are!" A voice pipes up down the aisle. Mey-Rin came running with a neatly folded black blanket in her hands, completely oblivious to the way her boot laces were flailing about, winding tighter and tighter around each other. "Took a bit o' searchin but I found th-WAAAH!"

As expected, she tripped over her own laces and landed face-first on the floor, almost landing on the Carrier if Bard hadn't moved his body quick enough.

"Ya alright?" He asks.

"Oh, don't mind me, how's the lil one doin'?" She says as she stands up, not looking the least bit fazed as she dusts off her skirt like she didn't just go sliding across the floor and land on her face. She hands the blanket to Bard. Luckily, it's still dry.

"Hopefully, he'll be much better with this on." Using the utmost precaution, Bard wraps the blanket around each delicate curve and dip until he's wrapped up all snug in a cocoon of fabric. To their relief the shivers lessen dramatically, all stress and tension from earlier leaking out his pores. His body goes absolutely slack in the blond's arms, subconsciously nuzzling deeper into the man's warmth like he couldn't get enough.

His sensitive noses catches a whiff of the burnt tobacco on his clothing and scrunches up, emitting an adorable, puppy-like sneeze before he settles again. Mey-Rin's face positively glows with adoration.

"Oh, would you look at that! He's so cute!"

"He is, ain't he? Betcha his pups are gonna be precious." He ruffles the folds around his hair, doing his best to remove as much gel as possible. This leaves his hair clumped together at odd angles. "All we's gotta do now is wait for Finny and we'll be homefr-"

"Well, well, well…" Whatever words were about to leave his mouth died off instantaneously at the sound of that voice. That airy, cryptic voice. Not now. Not him. "Wha' 'appened 'ere?"

Little was known about the Undertaker. No one knew where he came from, what he had done, how he climbed so quickly up the chain of power and became Head Technician. No one even knew his real name. To be honest, no one wanted to. Considering his personality, one can only imagine it's something as dementedly twisted as the man himself. All anyone knew for certain was that he harbored a deep love for all Carriers, big and small. Especially those of the Canis Lupus branch. If someone so much as sneezed at a Carrier he would materialize from the shadows to 'correct' them on their behavior by threatening to shove them in a coffin. Whether he was serious on fulfilling that threat or not was unclear. No one ever dared challenge him on it.

"S-sir!" Bard piped up first. He jumped up so fast he nearly slipped on the gestation fluid. "W-what, uh...what're ya doin' here so late? It's the middle of the night."

"Right you are, Bardroy. Which is exactly the reason I came." He brushed past the blond without a second thought and looked to the Carrier. He still hadn't opened his eyes yet, leaving them to believe he was unconscious. He definitely wasn't dead. Though his chest movements were barely noticeable from a distance he was definitely still breathing. Perhaps this would be enough to escape the Technicians wrath.

His long, black fingernails brush back the Carrier's bangs. The next words that came from his mouth are low, vengeful, and absolutely drenched in venom more poisonous than a snakes.

"So...which one'a you blokes broke the chamber?"

"Um...ya see, sir, it's…" Mey-Rin desperately searched for a reasonable excuse. Bard simply scratched the back of his neck nervously. "What happened is-"

"It was me!" Finny shouted. He had returned with the mop and bucket as planned, the bucket being filled with various cleaning supplies ranging from salts to wax. He lets them clatter to the floor. Fresh tears were streaming over his cheeks again, falling from his face in fat, round drops. "I-I did it. I'm the one who broke the chamber, s-sir."

"Is...that right?"

"Y-yes, sir. I'm really, really sorry for making such a mess of things. I wasn't thinking too clearly when I ran in here and I knew if I didn't act quick enough he'd get worse and...and...I'll accept whatever punishment you give me."

There's a long moment of tension-filled silence as Undertaker takes everything in, the broken glass covering the floor, the destroyed chamber that costs between ten thousand to twenty thousand credits, the weakened Carrier on the floor. He won't lie, it paints an awful picture. Then to top it all off, he has a sniveling Technician kneeling before him and waiting for whatever punishment Undertaker deems suitable?

He can't help but laugh like a madman.

"P-punishmen-hahahah!" He clung to his sides as the laughter increased, his words coming out in breathless wheezes for a short time. "P-punishment fer wha', lad? Ya did nothin' wrong! In fact, by breakin' that chamber, ya saved this pup's life."

"I did?" Finny asked.

"He did?" Bard and Mey-Rin asked in unison.

"'e did. As yer all aware, chemical imbalance is no laughin' matter to a Carrier. It's'a finicky type o' error tha' we don't see e'ryday and is a tad slow at makin' itself known, but it can become a real problem if not dealt with right away. Just take a look at this pup," He gestured to the trembling body on the floor. "I'd wager if 'e 'ad stayed in there til the reset took effect the chemicals woulda reached 'is respiratory system and killed 'im in seconds."

"You're serious? He would've died that easily?" Bard asked.

"Oh, yes, I guarantee it. And ya know I've never been wrong before. But thanks to Finny, 'e's alive. Good job, lad."

Finny was utterly speechless. This couldn't really be happening, could it? He had prepared himself for being sentenced to prison to work off the damages made to the gestation chamber. Or a worse fate, being stuffed into one of Undertaker's coffins. Now he's been told he did something right? He could think of nothing else to do in that moment other than nod his head and utter a soft, "Thank you, sir…"

"So uh, now that that's outta the way, there's just one thing left." Bard mutters, turning his attention back to the Carrier. "What're we supposed to do with this one? Do we...I don't know, do we put him in another gestation chamber? Til he's done cookin'?"

"Oh, no no no. None o' that. Get 'im all cleaned up and then bring 'im on down to the exam room. I'll take things from there."

"Yes, sir! Right away!" Mey-Rin exclaimed. She set to work on drying off the small Carrier while Bard and Finny left to fetch a gurney.

"Very good. I'll leave ya to it then." Undertaker wandered back out into the hall. Already dozens of Technicians were rushing to the room to investigate the same warning their watches transmitted but he hardly noticed their presence. He was too deeply invested in his thoughts. What an eventful day. It isn't even daytime, it's half-past midnight. Honestly. For all the time he spent preparing for the young pups arrival, all time spent pondering possible outcomes, he never once imagined it would happen at such an ungodly hour. The means, however, he completely expected.

A sudden chill washes over him. He stops dead in his tracks, a wicked smile that could put the Cheshire cat to shame stretches the corners of his mouth. Yes, he knows. Of course he knows. He's always known. So does she.

His eyes survey the hall discreetly, long enough to be sure no one else will turn a corner and spot him before slinking a hand inside one of the many folds of his robe, sorting through all the odd trinkets he keeps there until finally the one he's searching for slides right into his palm. To the untrained eye, it's nothing special, nothing more than an old pendant. To Undertaker, however, it's much more than that. It's a beautifully sculpted pendant made from an abnormal stone found on the outside, one that shimmered as bright as an aquamarine due to the immense radiation. Inside there are several strands of slate hair fashioned into the shape of an infinity symbol resting above a golden inscription. His chartreuse eyes gleam like two refined emeralds at the sight of it as his extensive black nails caress a delicate 'C'. After all this time, it's still as flawless as ever.

Another cold breeze courses through him, this one strong enough to evoke goosebumps. He giggles like a mad schoolgirl.

"e's 'ere, Cloudia. 'e's finally 'ere."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos are much very appreciated and if you have any helpful criticisms or thoughts, feel free to let us know.


	2. Chapter 2

He's in a dimly lit cave.

All around him he can hear stalactites dripping water into murky puddles along the floor, casting an eerie echo through the tunnels loud enough to compete with the pouring rain outside. It isn't the most soothing lullaby he's ever heard but it's better than the jarring noises those birds make. Much better.

His small nose twitches in the air, followed by a soft sneeze. Through the musty air he can pick out a few choice scents: fresh rain, white roses in bloom, pine needles, rabbit hair, and dew-sprinkled blueberries. The latter has his stomach crying out. What he wouldn't give for a taste, to trap a fat berry between his pointed teeth, to pierce its delicate skin and spill the bittersweet juices across his tongue. Anything to mask the flavor of dry bones and milk. His stomach growls again, louder this time. He can't take any more of this.

With a frustrated snort he rolls around so his back is towards the entrance, nuzzling deeper into the breathing form beside him, trying to avoid further temptation but instead suffers a new problem: discomfort. Despite the coming spring and bedding made from dry leaves and twigs, the ground beneath him remains as cold and hard as ice. Though, if he were to be honest with himself, he doesn't mind the cold as much. In fact, he finds he likes it. Almost as much as he likes the warmth radiating off his companion's body.

It's another wolf. A female with fur as black as the darkest night, fading into a silvery white towards the tips of her tail, paws, and belly. Truly beautiful. She doesn't do much; propped up against the wall, keen eyes trained on the entrance while shielding him from the elements using her bushy tail. Odd. Normally wolves don't have such long, thick and luxurious tails. Her's is so thick she could be mistaken for a fox if not for the big paws and fur color.

Over time she's become a frequent visitor in his dreams, making an appearance in times of distress or depression or those rare occasions when he simply wanted comfort and didn't care where he got it from. Most of the time the two would spend their days lounging around just like they were doing now, sometimes in a desolate cave or a meadow if the weather was fair-which it rarely is-and though this didn't sound like the most exciting dream ever, he preferred it this way. It made him feel safe.

He peeks up at her through the disheveled strands in her tail and bites back a whimper. Something's wrong. Usually, she would grant him her undivided attention, taking every given opportunity to lick his face to the point where he's struggling to escape, a bothersome torture he would never admit he liked and/or missed. But not today. She hasn't once looked away from the entrance, as if doing so would result in some great catastrophe. It doesn't make any sense. What has her so concerned? Is it the storm? Or something more than that?

When he tries to ask her his words come out as a whimper pathetic enough to blush over. How humiliating. On the plus side, it does earn her attention. She starts to shift around slightly, careful not to jostle him around too much, then removes her tail to make sure he isn't injured or uncomfortable. That's when he notices her eyes. Two pools as radiant as sapphires, overflowing with complete love and adoration. And it's all for him.

Before he can stop himself another whimper escapes, more pained than the last. He squirmed restlessly in an effort to dissuade the feeling of being stabbed by a rusted knife as fresh tears pricked the corner of his eyes, his vision growing more blurry than it was previously. He isn't sure what brought this on. Literally a minute ago he found her presence inviting and wished to be nowhere else. Now what? He feels tortured around her? Is this how she feels? If so, what's making her feel this way? He wants to know. He doesn't know what he can do to help but he wants to at least understand it. He wants to make it better. He just-

_It's alright._

His eyes widen. He looks again to the wolf. Did she…?

_There is no need to be scared. Nothing can harm you in this realm between worlds, I assure you._ Her words do little to soothe him. _It's tragic, really. Here you are, on the cusp of life, your brethren eagerly awaiting your arrival, when those gloomy storm clouds decide to smite you at your most vulnerable. If I had been there, I could've...I would've..._

Something wet drips onto his stomach.

_It probably doesn't mean anything now but for what it's worth, I'm sorry._ _For everything._

That does it for him. Up until now he's done a so-so job at suppressing the tears but those words absolutely shatter whatever resistance he has left, leaving him no other option but to ride out the tremors, his face becoming deeply drenched in a mixture of hot tears and mucus. Even in such a repulsive state she doesn't turn away. Instead, she licks his face meticulously, clearing away all the liquid until his face is once again clean. That solves one problem. As for his state of vision, he can no longer see anything. Her saliva blurred his vision to the point where everything appeared a distorted, colorless blob. More-so than usual.

A strong gust of wind pushes through the entrance. It sends his fur whipping in all direction and there are tiny flurries of frozen water pelting his face. It's getting colder. A little too much for his liking. He opens his mouth to whimper again but no sound escapes. Instead, he can feel his throat being filled by an unknown liquid, growing thicker and thicker with each passing second until he's choking and his lungs are burning from the lack of oxygen. More tears are running down his face.

_Now, why are you crying? Don't you know? Today is a very special day. You have no idea how long I've been waiting for this, to finally meet you_. Even in the midst of all this, all the different sensations being thrown at him, he can still feel her tears drip onto his pelt. _And now…you're here._

* * *

He wakes with a soundless shout, chest heaving so erratically that he fears his heart may burst through his ribs like an alien. That whole encounter left his brain in a frenzied state and the fact that he was alone in an unknown environment scared him all the more, his colorless eyes darting rapidly about the room to try and discern where he was.

Everything was gone. Or, possibly everything changed. The cave turned into a blinding white room filled with an assortment of different tools and beeping machines, all of which he couldn't even guess how to use. The freezing floor turned into a smooth metal table, and the sweet scents from earlier turned into a disinfected one that burned his nose. Before he could think properly he moved his hand to rub away the feeling when halfway through a cold rush crashed over his spine, forcing him to drop his arm against the table, evoking another rush in the process.

At least he learned one thing from the experience: he doesn't have paws. Or fur. Just eight long fingers, two thumb and bare flesh. No wonder he's so cold.

Already he had so many questions. Where was he? What's going on? Why was he here? Who brought him here? Was this another dream, or was this reality? How could he tell the difference? Is someone going to explain everything to him? If so, when? In a few minutes? Hours? Would it be a family member? Did he even have a family?

_Well, one things for sure, I won't get anywhere twiddling my thumbs and hope someone will eventually find me. So I guess that means I have to find them. But first I have to get off this damn table._

Steeling his nerves, he thrusts himself up into a sitting position, uttering a breathless whimper at the combined sensation of liquid ice leaking down his spine and having his most delicate region pressed up against metal. The people who brought him here seriously couldn't have dressed him? Really? He grits his teeth. Whoever they are, they better hope and pray to never meet because he's going to have words—none of them friendly.

Which brings him to the next phase in his plan. If he's going to wander aimlessly like an idiot to God-knows-where he can at least save himself some dignity and cover up. For some reason the thought of walking around with everything hanging out there for the world to see had his stomach in knots, like he wanted to vomit even though there was nothing in his stomach. He scanned the room for anything doable, be it a towel or blanket or actual clothing but turned up empty-handed.  
  
_Great. Now what?_ He spared a glance to his right and nearly jumped out of his skin when he came face-to-face with a grinning, silver-haired man.

"G'mornin' young pup. So lovely ta see ya up 'n about."

In that moment primal instincts took hold of the reigns and forced all rational thought out the nearest window, convincing him that this man was a threat. His heart rate rose exponentially, his pupils were stretched into paper thin slits, his hands grew uncomfortably clammy with sweat and he choked out something similar to a shout.

If someone were bold enough to approach him and ask what brought this on, he wouldn't answer. Not just because his throat felt like he swallowed a burning hot poker whole but because he didn't know himself. He didn't know anything. All he knew was whatever nonsense his instincts told him. And right now they were telling him that he should get away. Although, it isn't as effortless a task as one would imagine it to be when he has zero control over his virgin limbs. Even less considering him and the table were covered in that slippery goo. He moves his entire body in an uncoordinated pattern, moving his legs backwards and his arms forward at the same time. Still, he does build some distance. He comes about as close as the edge.

"Wait a sec, don-"

The Carrier's palm made contact with the slick table and he started to tip backwards, hands clawing fruitlessly at the air for support. It didn't do him any good. He met the ground with a heavy wet smack, each and every nerve sent into another wave convulsions so painful he couldn't contain the broken whimper slipping past his lips.

_Please…just leave me alone. I didn't do anything to you._ He reaches with trembling hands for his legs and brings them up against his chest, ducking his head into the small space provided. It was all he could do at this point. _Save me…please…please, please take me away from all this…I don't care how…just…help…_

Undertaker frowned. The poor thing. He must be more deeply scarred than they thought if he's reacting like this. He probably doesn't even know what happened which would have been considered a good thing if not for the fact that he doesn't know what he's scared of, leaving him utterly scared of everything. Or everyone. And if on the off-chance he actually does remember something, Undertaker can't figure it out without dissecting the other's head. Which he could do, it just doesn't seem like something the other would go for.

He extended an arm towards the small Carrier, his hand almost coming to rest on a shoulder before getting smacked away violently.

"S-sst…sta-" The Carrier can hardly get a word out before a coughing fit overpowers him, mouthful after mouthful of gestation fluid splashing on his legs, stomach, the floor. Everywhere. It's a gross and alarming display but Undertaker makes no move. He's done this enough times in the past to understand there are some Carriers who appreciate a little personal space during their transition into this new life and this is one of those many disturbing phases. He also figures making another move would prompt the pup into biting and he definitely wasn't looking for anymore scars.

As expected the Carrier continues to cough for several minutes, having brief intervals here and there to suck down just enough oxygen to keep him alive. It felt like there was a bottomless supply of fluid inside his throat, like the more he dispelled the more was being produced. He almost felt thankful for nothing else being inside his stomach. He imagined vomiting anything else would actually set his throat on fire.

He manages to choke out another mouthful, this one fortunately smaller than the others, and notices through disheveled bangs that the man had yet to move away from him. He starts to inch away again, never once breaking his cradled position.

"Calm yerself. No one's gonna 'urt ya none." The Technician assured. Thankfully, this halts the Carrier's movements but he maintains a respectable distance. "'ow's about I introduce meself. The names Undertaker and I'm the 'ead Technician round these parts. The reason I'm 'ere is cause believe it or not, young pup, ya came outta gestation a few 'ours ago. Gave everyone quite a scare, I'll 'ave ya know. But that's a thing o' the past. Righ' now I gotta run a few tests to make sure yer alrigh'. Nothing too serious I assure ya. Just a couple'a questions and things. Ya think ya can oblige me?" The Carrier doesn't make a sound or movement in response, simply scanning the Technician with those lifeless gray eyes for any sign of falseness to his words. Undertaker notices the boy's unwillingness to cooperate. Guess it's time for plan B.

He reaches purposefully into his robes, rifling once more through all the odds and ends inside, and slowly removes a bone-shaped biscuit. He leans casually against the table. "Well, if ya change yer mind, let me know. In the meantime, I think I'll help meself to one'a me biscuits." He chomps off one half, leaving the other to look like an oblique fracture.

As expected, a loud gurgle cuts through the bitter silence. The Carrier gasps in reaction, wrapping his slender arms taught around the source, mentally and physically willing away the unwelcome sensation. Suddenly his stomach feels weird. Like he wants to throw up except nothing comes up. His mouth is filling up liquid, but a thinner and warmer type than whatever muck he was coughing out earlier. His nerves adapt a tingling vibe, almost like he's being electrified from the inside, and he feels like running around the room to ward off the excessive energy. Overall, it wasn't as unpleasant as everything else he had been dragged through but at the same time it wasn't a positive feeling

Undertaker smiles knowingly. Works every time. It's a rather cruel and unorthodox method considering the pups fragile and frankly animalistic system can't digest anything other than meats, berries and milk but he can't deny its effectiveness. After all, when has a pup ever been able to resist a treat.

"Ya 'ungry, pup?" The Carrier gives a meek, unsure nod. "Hmm…Nah. Ya stomachs actin' tha' way but ya won't actually feel 'unger fer forty-eight 'ours. Trust me. You'll really feel it then. Hehehe~" He giggles, careful to keep the biscuit between his teeth as he reaches into his robe and removes a tablet, accompanied by a matching stylus. "But if ya still feel like eatin' then yer gonna 'ave to finish the exam.

He remains as standoffish of the man as he always has. Part of him wants to believe that nothing bad will happen but still his instincts remain unmoved, continually screaming that he shouldn't trust anything or anyone. Although, doing so won't abide the disturbing noise coming from his stomach, nor the other weird feelings it provokes and he is at his limit with weird feelings.

_I guess it can't be that bad if it means this… **thing** will stop. Just pray you don't get on my bad side. I might be a shivering wreck but that doesn't change the fact that doesn't make me any less of a predator than my totem. He gives a nod. Undertakers grin widens much to the Carrier's chagrin._

"Wonderful. 'op on up 'ere and we'll get started." He said, giving the table two swift taps. The Carrier deadpanned. Of course.

He uses the utmost precaution in untangling himself from the tightly wound ball he's created, going one limb at time, letting his legs straighten out and his palms press face-down onto the smooth floor, being sure to take his time. He narrowly escaped one veritable hell, he's not about to cast his body through another. He rolls over into a sitting position, wincing at the reemergence of that all too familiar ice in his groin, and stands up on wobbly legs. Okay. The easy part is done.

The hard part would be walking. He tentatively raises his right leg, moves it forward and puts it down, feeling all his muscles screaming at the movement. He really hoped he would get used to this. Quickly.

He follows the same pattern for each leg over and over again until he's standing beside the metal table again, plants both hands down onto the icy surface, and hefted himself up. Fortunately, he's so cold that his body doesn't explode in a coverage of goosebumps. Guess that's something.

Undertaker takes up a metal chair beside the table and makes himself comfortable, slipping one leg over the other and rests the tablet against his knee, stylus in hand.

"First question: are ya aware of yerself? Do ya know wha' ya are?"

_More or less. I know I'm a Carrier. I know my end-goal is reviving the totem I represent by creating more Carriers, and eventually start reproducing natural offspring. More importantly, I know in order to accomplish this goal I need a Charge. Basic knowledge._ He nods.

"Good, good," He scribbles something on his tablet. "Next question: do ya feel off anywhere? Fer instance, are ya in any pain?"

_That's a bit of a loaded question. What exactly do you consider as 'off' anyways? Or 'on' for that matter? Is it off that I can't feel anything below my waist? Is it off that I feel like dying because one person is gawking at me like a piece of meat? Another hungry gurgle. Okay, definitely don't think about food anymore. It's really freaking me out. But really, I have no idea what I'm supposed to be feeling. Neither does this kook I'm sure. He isn't a Carrier. He hasn't gone through this bloody process. How on Earth could he possibly understand?_ He huffs an angry snort. _He should try convincing this bounder to stuff him back inside his gestation so he can sleep off the next five to ten years. Maybe by then he'd be in a better state of mind to do this._

Undertaker looks up from his tablet to see the Carrier has gone deathly silent again. More than usual. He waves around the stylus before the Carrier's face, giggling inwardly at the way he blinked abruptly and looked up. "Wha's the matter? Cat got yer tongue?"

There's a second of silence. Possibly two. Then in the next, the silver-haired man explodes into earth-shattering, raucous laughter so powerful not only does it border on deafening, but it almost throws the owner onto the floor if he hadn't grasped the underside at the last second. Each raspy intake of breath sends his voice an octave higher, his laughs developing into full-on hyena cackling, a few hysterical coughs mixed in there whenever he forgets to breathe. From what can be seen, his expression is that of pure euphoria.

The Carrier, on the hand, expressed zero delight. Call it cliché, an overused stereotype or a petty rivalry but even in this obliterated day and age the relationship between Canine and Feline Carries was stretched into a very thin line. About as thin as a thread, really.

"Hehehe~ tha' was great! I 'aven't laughed tha' 'ard in eons." Undertaker says breathlessly between giggles, occasionally being interrupted mid-sentence by a brief burst of laughter. "B-but….really. Tell me 'ow ya feel, pup. It's'a…hehe…s-serious matter."

The Carrier rolls his eyes. _It's as I said, I don't know. It probably doesn't help that this table has numbed, oh…88% of my body. So I suppose I'll have to start small and work my way up._ He checks his legs, moving each one around. Left, right, up, down. _Those seem fine._ He runs his hands shakily over his thin chest, his fingers ghosting over each and every hard plane. _Smooth, soft and sturdy enough to protect my organs and link and everything in-between. Guess that's good, too._

His hands travel north into uncharted territory. Past his neck. Chin. Mouth. Nose. Eyes. While it was unfortunate he lacked a mirror to determine whether everything looked normal, nothing felt 'off' so he didn't complain. He then threads his fingers through his hair. He knows well enough it isn't a vital part of his body but he can't bring himself to care. He was curious and wanted to check it out. It was cold, damp and without a brush it stood out at odd angles. Although, it was soft too. Really soft. Like each follicle was made from silk. He continued running his hands at every angle, finding he could manipulate certain patches into positions. Interesting.

His hands trail from the back towards the front and he plays around with his bangs peacefully for a minute before he feels his palm brush against his right eye and evoke a painful reaction. It's nowhere near as bad as being choked by that fluid, though. More like a dull sting in his cornea.

_Huh._ He does it again and again, bringing about the same reaction every time. _Okay, that's not normal. Or is it? Ugh! This exactly what I'm talking about! If someone from my family or at least a Carrier in general were here then things would go a hell of a lot smoother. At least then I could have a reference or…something._ He lets his hand drop back against the table and locks eyes with the Undertaker. That grin hadn't left his face. _What'll happen if I tell him? We spend more time in this depressing room and it ends up being nothing all along? Tsk, yes. That's going to go swimmingly. Will it really be so bad if I don't tell him? Odds are it really is nothing and it'll be gone by tomorrow morning. I guarantee it._

Regardless of the Undertakers previous warning, he gives a firm nod. Undertaker's grin stretches wider.

"Good. Very, very good. Just two more questions and we'll be done." The Carrier was relieved to hear that. "What is the name of your totem and model number?"

_Yes. Finally. Something easy. My totem is the Canis Lupus Ligoni and my model number is C131._ He looked on at the Technician as if expecting the other to somehow read his thoughts and spare him the trouble of talking but quickly realized such a thing wasn't yet possible. Immortality, yes. Reading minds, no.

_Well, I don't see any other way to tell him. It's not like I can speak. My throat still burns like a bitch from earlier and I refuse to strain it any further for a matter as trivial as this. Hmm…what to do, what to do? He ponders it for a moment. Perhaps I can take the tablet from him. Just long enough for me to write it down or something. It can't be that difficult a task. I understand him perfectly so all I would have to do is transfer the words from my mind onto the screen. Yes, that coul-_

"Hmm…" The Undertakers lowly hum broke C131 from his trance. "Ya know wha'? I ain't gonna strain ya any further. I can see from yer face tha' it's been a busy day and tha' ya don't feel like talkin'. I's not like I don't already know what ya are."

C131 should be grateful that a Technician decided to act uncharacteristically courteous to a Carrier's needs seeing as a greater number didn't, but an underlying sense of suspicion bubbled to the top. _And what exactly does that mean?_

Of course, since the Technician is unable to read another's thoughts, he couldn't answer that. He merely continued scribbling away at the tablet for a moment longer, checking over everything at least twice to be sure nothing was left incomplete or unanswered, then turned back to the Carrier.

"There's just one more test to go and you'll be 'ome free. And don't fret. Ya don't 'ave to answer any more questions. Just sit back, relax and let me do the rest." C131 couldn't help but shudder and for one the table wasn't to blame. He really couldn't have phrased that any worse.

Undertaker stows the tablet to the side for later and starts wandering about the room, opening random cabinets and drawers, digging through all the contents, occasionally picking out one object from the bunch before moving onto the next. When he does return his arms are filled with metal tools.

The first one he picks out is his stylus, flicking a button on the end C131 hadn't noticed before. A faint light shines out the other end. Undertaker folds back the Carrier's bangs so his face is completely revealed, shining the light into both eyes. He hums intriguingly at the sight but doesn't elaborate. Once satisfied he exchanges the stylus for two tools, one having a cone-shaped end and the other being a flat metal rod. He uses the cone tool to inspect both ears while the metal rod is lain onto his tongue. Another low hum. The rest of the areas thankfully don't require any more tools. He merely observes the Carrier's body, running a double-check to ensure everything was grown in proportion to his body, that he had no cuts or scrapes anywhere from the glass but nothing seemed wrong. He was happy to say this pup was exceptionally healthy.

"Just one last thing, pup," He reaches beneath the table and hands over a pair of beige shorts and a matching, lighter beige t-shirt. "I reckon you'll be wantin' these. Ya don't come off as the type o' bloke to show off 'is goods. Not like me anyway. Hehehe~" He giggled. C131 felt his face heat up at the remark. He isn't wrong but that doesn't mean he can make fun of him for it. With an irritated sigh, he wordlessly snatches the clothes from him. Undertaker, of course, merely grins.

"Once yer dressed, come join me in the 'all. Then I'll take ya to meet yer caretaker."

* * *

  
So far, the world outside looked about as bland and confusing as C131 felt. Each hallway was decorated in the same dull gray walls and white tiled floors that he found were difficult to walk across without slipping and sliding everywhere. Doors were placed randomly throughout each hall and would either lead into another bedroom or laboratory or stasis station or cafeteria or outdoor area or indoor area or…something. He shook his head and rubbed his temples to ease the impending headache. Would he have to memorize the layout of this place? How was he supposed to do that? Or a better question is—how was anybody supposed to do that? This place had so many twists and turns it was virtually a maze.

He does his best to keep his eyes glued to the floor, trying in vain to ignore how suddenly a Carrier would perk up and come to greet Undertaker before turning dead silent, all those hushed whispers flittering through the air, how two Carrier's in particular described him using choice words such as 'weak' and 'small'.

He gazes through the loose strands of his bangs at them. Both have stunningly bright white hair and matching eyes, their complexion pale enough to rival with their hair. The smaller one sneers at him before turning back to what C131 can assume is his sibling and carries on with their conversation. He dares to breath in their scent and once it registers, he isn't at all surprised. Canis Lupus Albus. Tundra wolves. A breed as cold as the environment they live in.

The two continued to walk in silence for a time until Undertaker abruptly came to a stop, C131 nearly bumping into the man. He looked up expectantly.

"Well, 'ere we are." The Undertaker announced when they reached a certain door. Unlike the hundreds of others they'd passed this one was different. It had color; a vibrant crimson that gleamed so bright C131 actually needed to squint to avoid being blinded. Undertaker couldn't help but giggle again. This pup was really too cute at times. "As you can see, this 'ere Carrier is a tad…eccentric."

C131 raised his brow skeptically.

"This makes 'im a tad difficult to get along with at times, but don't fret. The bloke means well." He then turned towards the door and rapped his knuckles against it.

Knock, knock

No answer. He tried again, more firmly than before.

Knock, knock.

Still no answer.

Right when Undertaker was beginning to suspect the Carrier must have wandered off outside or into the cafeteria, a shrill voice offended their ears.

"Who is it for goodness sake?! I am trying to get some beauty sleep here!"

"Hehehe~" The undertaker almost busted into another fit of giggle at the sound and tried his best to muffle it behind his sleeve. Emphasis on tried. "C-calm yourself, it's only me. I'm 'ere to make a request of you, 8cy6-"

Before he had a chance to finish that sentence the door was swung open, missing the Technician by a hair, and banged heavily against the wall. Standing in the open doorway now was a tall, lean figure with chartreuse eyes and hair so red it could rival the doors for intensity. He was dressed in the same boring beige shirt and shorts as C131 but-unsurprisingly-decided to accessorize a little. Each arm was covered in red-beaded bracelets and other sparkly charms that jingled whimsically with every move he made, the single stud adorning his ear was painted a deep maroon, the glasses he probably didn't even need had a red frame and little chain that disappeared into his hair, and he was wearing a red jacket that hung limply from his shoulders. He was pretty much all the color in the room.

The…man?...fixed his eyes on the Technician and heaved a bitter sigh, giving his glasses a swift readjustment before going on. "Ugh, not this dreck again. Darling~, we've been over this! If you aren't here on business then drop the formalities! You know how much I hate it when you call me that!"

"I'm sorry to say I am on business this time. Rather important business at that. But you do 'ave a point. That's no excuse to not call a lady by 'er proper name. Can you forgive me, Grell?"

"Mmm~…" Grell purred seductively. He clearly wasn't a person to bear a grudge long seeing as he was having trouble staying angry at the other. "That's so not fair, you know, telling a lady what she wants to hear so you'll get your way. Especially one as lone~ly as I am." Grell draped his arms around the Undertaker's neck and pulled them together until their bodies were flush against each other, the redhead's shark-like teeth dancing dangerously close to an ear. "It's low, underhanded and working like a charm!" He pursed his glossy lips to plant a kiss on the delicate lobe. Undertaker, almost effortlessly, removed himself from the redheads grasp and left him to fall face-first on the floor

"Now, now, you know that isn't the reason I'm 'ere. It's as I said: I'm 'ere to make a request of you." He offered a hand to Carrier. Grell was quick to accept it and stood up, giving a few quick brushes to his clothing all the while.

"Oh darling~, do you even need to ask? You know there isn't anything I wouldn't do for you~. Just say the word and consider it done."

"I need you to keep an eye on this 'ere pup."

Grell finally noticed that there was a third-party joining them in the hall and glanced over the Undertakers shoulder so he could catch a glimpse at the new blood. C131 didn't bother meeting his gaze. He merely stood behind the Undertaker, acting more like a second shadow rather than a person, and looked bored with himself as his colorless eyes scanned the hallway up and down and even resorted to twiddling his thumbs for entertainment. Grell frowned at the sight. _The poor thing. He looks so sad and confused and…lonely._ He huffed a soft and bitter laugh. _Don't I know how that feels._

He was quick to replace his sorrowful expression with one of bubbly optimism and smiled, his sharp teeth once again exposed. "Well, who is this pretty little thing? He's such a cutie!"

Another thing about Grell is that he lacked an understanding on boundaries as he all but invaded C131's personal space and strangled him in a hug. The smaller Carrier's breath hitched and he broke out into another coughing fit. Not because more gestation fluid was trying to escape his lungs but because of Grell's scent. It was thick, heady and overwhelming. Like a cologne or perfume except it wasn't potent enough to burn his sensitive nose. One things for sure: he was definitely a Vulpes Vulpes. Definitely a red fox.

"This pup needs someone to watch over 'im. Least until we file the proper paperwork and get I'm settled in 'is own room. I figured who better to watch over the pup then an old friend o' mine? 'Less of course you're too busy with other matters."

"Darling~, don't you worry your pretty little demented head about it. I'd be more than happy to look after the little one. I'll do a good job, too. I promise~" Grell purred, nuzzling his cheek affectionately against the other Carriers hair and planted a soft kiss there. C131 shuddered. Did he really have to make everything sound so…suggestive? Honestly.

"I 'ave a feeling you will." The Undertaker flashed another Cheshire grin, this one glinting with a peculiar light. As though he knew more than he was letting on. "Well, I'll leave you to it then. I 'ear me a certain Indian wolf 'ad a litter recently so if ya need me, ya know where I'll be. Ta-ta!" He starts to walk away.

"Well while you're at it tell that she-devil Alisha she promised to show me her puppies a month ago and still hasn't lived up to it!" Grell screamed after him. Undertaker's eerie giggle bounces off the walls. He doesn't turn back, simply waves his hand over his shoulder to show he acknowledge the redhead's request. Grell's smile returns and for the moment he feels good about himself until he realizes his mistake. Right as the Technician turns a corner, he shouts, "D-don't tell her I called her a she-devil again! Pretty please?! Last time she almost ripped by head off by my hair! Hey! Do you hear me?!" The volume of Undertakers laugh grows exponentially, full on cackling as he vanishes around the corner, this time giving no indication that he'll actually fulfill that promise. Grell turns white like a ghost. "I'm so dead."

C131 smirks. He can't explain it and he most certainly won't admit it but the redheads misfortune makes him feel…happy? No, that doesn't sound like the right word. He knows he's entertained. Humored? No, wait! Amused! That's the word. Grell amuses him greatly. He's still an annoying twit who seriously needs to be told he isn't a woman if he doesn't already know but at least he has one good quality about him. Maybe this week won't be so bad after all.

He feels said Carrier tugging him towards the room. "Come along, darling. I can't stand being in such a dreary hallway anymore. The lack of color is nauseating."

_We actually agree on something then. Miracles are happening all over the bloody place._ C131 yanks his arm free and wordlessly follows Grell inside his room.

* * *

_  
_ It doesn't surprise him in the slightest that everything in Grell's room was the same sickening shade of red as the door. Literally. Everything. The walls, the carpet, the bathroom door, the pillows and bed sheets, the little fox plushie with a hook and eyepatch sitting so politely between the pillows, the couch and armchairs in the other room, the fox figurines and make-up kits littering his dresser. Even the lights above his bed. And don't even get him started on the smell. He doesn't spend too much time thinking about it but if he thought Grell's scent wasn't intoxicating enough, the room was downright suffocating. It smelled like a bunch of sweaty foxes fresh from mating season rolled around in a batch of rose petals, cinnamon and nutmeg and rubbed off on everything. What a weird mix.

Grell shuts the door with a swift kick. He then starts walking about the room, picking up any stray clothes from the floor while humming a pleasant tune. "As that bounder~ said, my name is Grell and I'm going to be your caretaker. I'm sorry about the mess. If I had known I would be having company I would have tidied up a lot sooner. It'll take me a few minutes so in the meantime you can…um…you can do…." He trailed off, tapping his long red nails against his equally red lips in thought. "Oh! I know! You can take a look around. This is your home for the next seven days. Might as well get adjusted, right?"

Grell does have a point. Given the territorial instincts his totem possesses it would be going against nature if he didn't grasp an understanding of his environment, no matter how short a time he would spend here. When the redhead returns to his previous task, C131 moves away from the door and preoccupies himself with the glass figurines on the dresser. Most of them are the same, a single fox sculpted into a walking, sitting or standing position except for the one in the dead center. He picks it up for a closer look. Four foxes are sitting together, each sporting a different color; the one in front is a vibrant crimson, the one to its left is a bright tangerine, the one to its right is a yellow-ish orange, and the one on the far end, trying to hide, is a burnt orange, verging on brown. Such variety. He also noticed their eyes were the same shade of chartreuse as Grell's. Perhaps this is what inspired him to choose such an eye color.

He turned it over in his hands, being extremely delicate in the way he handled it and observed every fine detail. Very impressive. He wished he could've met the sculptor and asked them how on Earth they molded such small details into such a fragile material as glass. It was truly incredible. Nothing his hands could ever accomplish.

Using the utmost caution, he sets it back down on the dresser and wanders off into the next room. Upon entering, he finds it's much bigger than he originally gave it credit for. The couch looked extremely plush and wide enough to seat three people with an armchair flanking either side, a metal coffee table positioned in the middle. A simple metal chair was positioned directly in front of an intimidating-looking terminal. He padded over to the couch and didn't hesitate face-planting directly onto its cushions. He was right; this couch was felt like heaven against his aching muscles. He rolled over onto his back and stretched out as far as his limbs would allow, growing so very relaxed and so very tired.

He dazedly looked to his right, taking note of all the decorations covering the coffee table. A finely-woven doily draped over the whole piece. Above it was all the ordinary items one would find; a box of tissues, an idle tablet and attached earpiece, non-artificial scent candles, bottles of nail polish, and a photograph. One of Grell and some woman.

Who was she? His sibling? A skeptical scowl crosses his face. Hmm, not likely. Though the two share red hair and unique eye colors, upon closer inspection he can make out how incredibly dull her teeth are. Far too dull to be considered a Carrier's. That, and she lacked a Carrier uniform. From what little space there was beyond their faces he could just make out a light pink shirt collar. Yeah, she couldn't have been a Carrier. So all that leaves is she's either a Technician or a Charge, although by the way she's expressing an emotion other than disgust, annoyance or disdain for Carrier contact, it's safe to say she's a Charge.

The two look very happy together. Grell doesn't seem too pleased about his short hair, a pissed off scowl across his face as he clamps a hand over his neck to hide it. The woman looks pleased by the display as she tries to hide her smile behind a hand. Emphasis on tried.

He can tell the two share the same interests. Both had obnoxiously flamboyant red hair, were dressed and accessorized in as much as possible without going too overboard. Probably trying not to come off as too bold. Back then, he still believed he was a woman. C131 groaned low in his throat. He would ask when this descent into craziness came about but for the sake of preserving his sanity he decided against it.

He does wonder when he will officially meet her. Oddly enough, she wasn't here. She wasn't at the door when Grell sent it nearly flying off its hinges, wasn't here lending Grell a hand straightening up the room. He seems to be doing everything himself. And he can't remember either Undertaker or Grell ever mentioning a name. Granted, C131 doesn't yet know anything about Charges he is pretty sure that one of their key responsibilities is looking after and accompanying their Carrier. Yet, she isn't. Almost like she…didn't…

_Is she…?_ He doesn't even want to finish that thought. _No. I shouldn't bring it up. I don't know how Grell will approach the situation. Or even if he wants to._

His metaphysical ears flip up when the humming abruptly ends. Grell must have finished. His hands move with lightning quick reflexes as he replaces the photograph back onto the table, left with mere seconds to put up his usual unfeeling façade to pretend like he hadn't been doing anything at all other than staring into space. Grell bounces through the doorway a second after, wearing…absolutely nothing.

"Well, that was quite a struggle~ but I'm happy to say my room is one hundred percent presentable!" He chirped with a broad smile. C131 quirked a brow, waiting for him to elaborate on the nudity. He sincerely hoped someone informed the other Carrier that certain activities were strictly forbidden between two or more Carriers. Even if it were, C131 wanted no part of it. First of all, he was in no shape to participate in something like that. Secondly, he did not want Grell like that. And lastly, he didn't even know if he was gay.

After a few minutes of awkward silence, C131 huffed a sigh and caved in. He gestured questionably to the Carrier's naked body. Grell perked up.

"Oh, this? Well, while I was cleaning, I thought you might appreciate a nice shower. No offense, but your hair is a hot mess! It's all clumped together by that gel and messy and…ugh, unattractive!" C131 was sure he'd feel offended if not for the fact that he was happy to hear the redhead say that. But all happiness fled from his body when Grell reached for the Carrier's shirt, moving to lift it from his body. "Now let's get you out of those horribly bland clothes an-"

C131 smacked the invasive hand away. He bore an expression bordering on unrelenting anger fused with indescribable paranoia. Okay, so maybe his speculation on being a gymnophobic might be correct. Nothing else made as much sense at that. He pretty much attacked the redhead the moment he tried to undress him. What other explanation could there be? He yanks the shirt back into its previous position, his eyes cast to the floor. Grell was probably pissed off at him now.

"Oh, I get it. You're a shy one~, aren't you?" Or not. "Nothing to be embarrassed about, darling. I was the same way the first week after gestation—more or less. Trust me, the moment you find yourself a Charge all that shyness will run right out the door and you'll be flaunting everything like moi~"

_Yeah, I can give you a dictionary-length list of reasons why that will **never** happen—both the flaunting part and being anything like you. _ He snatches his arm free and brushes speedily past the redhead and into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him so he could have a little privacy. Thankfully, the room wasn't red. More of a white and monochromatic setting like the halls but the floor tiles were a faux granite that complimented the room marvelously. There was a shower to the left, a toilet and sink to the right, a single red toothbrush lying adjacent to the knobs, and a square mirror that doubled as a medicine cabinet hanging above it. He doesn't bother looking at his reflection. It's a tempting thing, especially since his eye is still feeling off, but he's been through a lot lately and the last thing he wants is a glaring reminder that no Charge will ever find him appealing because his body is a scrawny, pathetic mess. It's cruel but it's the truth.

By the time Grell is knocking on the door, he has his shirt and shorts off. "Pup? Are you okay? Can I come in now?"

He takes a deep breath. Might as well get this done as soon as possible. Who knows, he might even enjoy it.

 

-Seven Minutes Later-  
  


"Okay...that...could have gone...so much better…" Grell decided as he all but dragged himself out from the bathroom, his words coming out a muffled mess as he had both hands cupped around his nose, red liquid seeping out between his fingers and onto the carpet. Good thing it was the same color. He staggered over to his bedside table and yanked the drawer open, his quick hands digging around blindly inside, throwing all sorts of items and 'things' to the floor until he found what he was searching for; tissues and concealer.

Back in the bathroom, C131 clawed his way out of the shower and slammed the door shut behind him. It didn't break, didn't even crack. Just shut with a soft click. Figures everything would be Carrier-proof. He moves across the floor on all fours, his legs buckling whenever he slipped on a puddle or an extra heavy shudder rippled through his spine. When he arrives in the doorway he doesn't hesitate for even a second to stab the brittle carpeting with his nails and drag himself away from the wet floors and onto a much softer, much drier surface. Once fully onto the carpet, he collapses, heaving out heavy breaths while watching Grell pitifully dab his bleeding nose and apply concealer to the beginning of a black eye.

Obviously the shower didn't go according to plan. Any expectations C131 might have had plummeted the moment he felt the first drop meet his virgin skin, rushing his body into a state ten times worse than everything he's been put through today. He screamed in agony, writing around helplessly in Grell's arms, struggling in whatever way possible to escape this veritable hell. Grell didn't relent in the slightest. Instead, he attempted to whisper worse of encouragement, promises that if he endured it long enough the pain would fade, that it wouldn't be like this ever again but nothing could soothe the other Carrier. C131 continued to struggle more and more and more still until he managed to yank one arm free. Grell barely had enough time to yelp in surprise before C131 reared back, faced the older Carrier, and delivered a right hook straight to the eye. Then to the nose for extra measure.

Did he overreact? Yes. Did he feel bad? Yes. Does he regret doing it? Hell no. All day he's been forced to endure all sorts of pain. Why shouldn't he inflict even a fracture of it onto someone else? And Grell being there at the time changed nothing. Had anyone else been in his place, he would've done it again.

He heard the redhead give a displeased whine that sounded a little too much like his other, furrier half. "I look dreadful! Absolutely dreadful! It looks so ugly and swollen and-and…oh, I don't even want to think about how much worse it'll look tomorrow!"

The smaller Carrier watches him swoon dramatically onto the bed, hand over the eyes and all. C131 scoffed. Figures. The idiot is more concerned about his appearance than the one he's supposed to be taking care of. Really, it's things like this that have him questioning what Undertaker was thinking when he gave Grell this assignment. He clearly isn't competent enough for such a responsibility, regardless of how many times he has or has not done this. Although he's certain this must be the Carrier's first time watching over another. It would explain why he's doing such a poor job.

He crawls again to the corner beside the bathroom door, squashing himself as far as it would allow and bringing his legs to his chest. He felt safe in this position. It made him feel cut-off from reality with no one except his thoughts.

One day. He's been alive for one day. This whole barrage of events happened in the span of twenty-four hours. Maybe even less. How in the hell could he be expected to live like this? So far, he hasn't found a single highlight. Not one. If anything good did happen then he couldn't see it.

What's worse is that this is just the beginning. When he decides to go looking for a Charge then who knows what he'll have to do, say or sacrifice for this one person who may or may not even accept him. That isn't to say he doesn't think they're worth it. It's likely they could be. Chances are there's a Charge out there who could show him how to be happy. Or at the very least, help him create a family so he won't have to be alone anymore. That alone would make them an important person in his eyes.

But that's what _he_ wants. What would a Charge want in return? Would playing a part in rebirthing a lost species be enough to satiate their wants, or would they expect more? Would they even believe him? Probably not. If he were human and some creep with sharp teeth told him he or she was from another universe where human-like beings turn into animals, eat raw meat and give birth to those animals without destroying their bodies, he wouldn't believe it either.

C131 turns frigid when he feels a hand suddenly touch his forehead. Apparently Grell left his bed to check on him.

"My, you're chilled to the bone." Grell frowns at this and wanders off into the bathroom, returning minutes later fully dressed and with his red jacket in tow. But instead of putting it on, he drapes it over the smaller Carrier. Because the size is meant for someone much taller, it drapes his entire body, encasing him like a grim reapers robe. A red grim reaper to be specific. "There. It's a little wet but it should warm you up."

Actually, it did. The fabric on the outside was drenched in water but the inside was completely dry. Warm, too. He wrapped it tighter around himself. _I guess I can understand why he wears this thing all the time. Other than it being red._

Grell sits down beside him, threading his fingers through C131's colorless locks.

"Today hasn't been a very good day for you, has it, precious?" C131 shook his head. "Well, let me tell you a little secret: you aren't alone. Escaping that glass deathtrap and adapting to life out here is the second-to worst experience you will ever know. And as much as it pains me to admit it, you were lucky to have giggling twit there to examine you. When I woke up there was a cold-hearted brute. And don't get me wrong, I love cold-hearted men as much as the next woman but that bastard was downright frigid! He wouldn't touch me with a five-foot pole yet whenever I spoke he tried to taser me! Rotten sadist…" Grell muttered.

C131 barely swallowed down his laughter. Okay, that counts as a positive thing. Grell notices and smirks, ruffling the Carrier's hair so it's a bigger mess than it started out as. "I know, it's funny until it happens to you. But that isn't the point. The point is our lives are never meant to be easy but that doesn't mean you have to wallow in loneliness forever. Why else do you think we need Charges? Because like in the wild, you cannot make a pack without first finding a mate. Or friends for that matter. Be honest with me, darling. Do you really think I'm going to up and forget about you when this week is over? Don't bother answering that because the answer is no, I won't. You know why?"

_Because you cling to my 'cuteness' like a fly to flypaper?_ C131 asks sarcastically.

"Because whether you like it or not, we're friends now." Grell said, leaving no room for argument from C131. As if he could argue. "Who else can handle that fiery temper of yours?"

_Would you prefer I punch you until you can't?_ He doesn't feel the least bit relieved or happier with everything else still hanging over his head but he can at least appreciate the effort Grell's putting forth. It's forceful, but appreciated. He leans against the taller Carrier, resting his head on the others shoulder in a comforting way.

"I'll take that as a thank you," Grell said. "Now let's go get you dressed and into bed. You've had one hell of a day." _  
_


End file.
